Stupid Snitch
by Matelia-legwll
Summary: "I can't believe I just did that." Find out the origin of James's and Lily's Snitch disagreement in the OWLs and how this all relates to their courtship. Enjoy!
1. James and the Snitch

Stupid Snitch

By Matelia-legwll

Disclaimer: No, definitely not Jo Rowling still. However, I was heavily inspired by her writings, particularly in book five. There are two OC's mentioned however, and only Justin Turner is mine. The other belongs to my friend, Umi, who has been kind enough to share her.

Setting: Sometime during the latter half of the Marauder's fifth year. I like to think it was only a week or two before Snape's memory of the DADA OWL. But definitely before the Ravenclaw/Gryffindor Quidditch match.

Rating: K+ just to be safe.

Genre: Romance/Humor. James/Lily

* * *

My heart is pounding still. I can't believe I just did that. She is going to kill us. All of us. Not even Wormtail will be spared. Well, actually he might be first since he's the one that pulled the trigger. I wonder which one of us she chased after. Oh no. Who's calling my name? Who found my secret hideout?

I poked the top part of my head out of the cupboard to better hear a glorious voice calling to me, "Potter! Potter! Where are you hiding?"

The whisper in relief escaped my lips, "Phew, not Cenis." I stepped out and waved, then called to my favourite redhead, "Hey Evans!" I grinned as I realized she came to find me this time around. However, I don't remember doing anything to make her stalk over. I dismissed that thought as she drew close enough to where I was to not yell if she so chose. That's a good sign.

"What did you think you were doing?" She sounded exasperated as she gestured to the Quidditch field and stands around us.

"What, now? Hiding in the Quidditch supplies," I answered smartly. Hey, that reminds me… "Here, come in before she sees you." And me… and completely destroys us both. I motioned for her to come inside and took a few steps back to allow her in.

"Who else was looking for you?" she asked curiously as she stepped inside. Well, I certainly can't tell her the answer to that one.

"Never mind that," I straightened up after closing the door, pleased that she'd followed my advice thus far. "What did you want to see me for?"

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "It's not going to work this time, Potter."

I wish I knew what she was talking about. Oh well. I'll act like I do. "When has it ever?" I leaned back against the box of Quaffles and crossed my arms. "Go on, let me have it."

I braced myself for the explosion but it didn't come the way I thought it would. "Did you realize Madam Pomfrey is going to murder you and Justin?" Evans asked eagerly. Merlin, she confuses me sometimes.

"No. Where'd you hear that?" I cautiously asked.

She stated her authority proudly, "Straight from the nurse herself."

I paused and considered the situation. "Did she specify our names?" I inquired, I admit, more out of curiosity than anything else. I was actually trying to figure out where Evans is going with this. Anyone who's familiar with Madam Pomfrey knows that she's only serious when she's giving you directions on how to be healed. She doesn't mean any of the rest of her ranting.

Evans reply caught me off guard. "No, but I told her you were the one responsible for Justin's condition."

My eyes widened. "Why'd you tell her that?"

Thankfully Padfoot wasn't around to hear that question. He'd tease me for sure. But truly, that was information Madam P doesn't require. She doesn't even ask anyone now that the Marauder's reputation has spread. Of course, Padfoot's a little irritated with the false blame, so we try to avoid solidifying the rumors with factual evidence.

"Because you are!" Evans retorted. "And Madam P swore that she'd murder the next person that came in with a Quidditch spirit injury and the person that caused the damage."

Deep breath. Don't laugh. Even if Evans did use the same exact nickname for Madam Pomfrey. Hmm. _Next_ person. "So… you mean to stop this from happening again?" If so, she should be talking to Justin Turner, not me. Although I'm not complaining. But Turner started that one. He just wasn't good enough to finish it.

Then, Evans rolled her eyes. "She threatened to start with _you_."

How strange. Evans is actually concerned about me. "You're warning me, then," I concluded. "Thanks." I couldn't help being impressed and grateful.

"No!" She stamped her foot. What the newt? A delayed explosion. "I realize that it's nearly impossible for you to connect an action with a consequence. Unfortunately, you're a Marauder." What's that supposed to mean? "You're not concerned with your own life or consequences at all. But at least show a concern for others' lives. You don't have to be blind as well as stupid, Potter," she spat angrily.

That's really what she thinks? I'll show her blind and stupid. She really needs to stop getting her adjectives from Snivellus. I'll humor her though. To make sure she was done enough to pay closer attention, I let her words hang in the silence for a moment longer before starting my rejoinder.

"Admittedly, I'm not as concerned for Turner as you are," I said sharply. But honestly, he's in the Hospital Wing. He's _fine_. "But how many times have _you_ been in the Hospital Wing, Evans?" I asked, turning the tables.

Interesting how fast her face goes from spitfire mad to confused. "What do you mean by that?"

Okay, I could rephrase my question a bit. "How many times have you been there because of your own injury?" I knew the answer to this one and she better not lie.

"Er…once, maybe." Good, she's still a bit confused as to my point.

"Your sprained ankle, right?" I stated more than asked.

"How'd you remember that?" She sounded so surprised. There went her accusation of 'blind' out the window.

"Anyway, just to let you know, regulars never get hurt without Madam Pomfrey spouting death threats if it happens again. She never follows through on them." And that disproves the 'stupid' accusation. Amazing how short a time it took me to disprove those falsehoods. Evans even recognizes it.

"But how can you be sure she won't this time? You didn't hear her." She is such a worrier.

"No, but I can sure picture it." Does she realize how endearing she is? I can't stay mad at her. "Honestly, Evans, I'm a lot more worried about you following through on death threats than Pomfrey's ravings."

Evans pouted for a moment at my accurate statements before saying, "Fine. Be stubborn. But don't tell me in the afterlife that I didn't let you know."

In silence I let that slide off my back. Now that the facetious conversation was over I was sure Evans would march back out; I wasn't in a mood to want to say the last word. But she didn't. She stayed. And that made me curious. "You feel guilty for telling on me, don't you?" I guessed.

"Hardly," she scoffed. Her eyes were staring at something behind me.

I slowly came a little closer, trying to subtly catch her attention as I made my point. "But you came all the way out to the Quidditch field, inside the supplies cupboard with me, to tell me of Pomfrey's threats."

She still wouldn't look at me. Her eyes were flying from side to side as she asked defensively, "So?"

I finally asked her outright. "Evans, why are you still here?" My curiosity and determination to get an answer were surely evident.

But she was not pleased with my question and said in a huff, "Oh. You want me to leave. Alright." Which was the complete opposite of what I wanted and she knew it.

"No… Wait…" She spun around and started for the door. "Listen to me," I pleaded, my frustration rising. "_Lily!_"

She stopped dead in her tracks.

Oh cripes.

I had crossed a line and we both knew it.

She spun and by the look on her face, I was in for it. Why did I allow her to fight with me when I left my wand in Padfoot's pocket?

She slowly advanced towards me, carefully and slowly enunciating each word, "Don't call me so intimately."

I stood my ground, knowing I deserved whatever she was about to do.

"Whoa!" I exclaimed, startled. She punched me! Well, she missed, but she had still tried to Muggle duel. What the newt did she think she was doing?

Wait, what is she holding?

A ball, golden, about the size of a—

"And here's your stupid snitch," she added, tossing it in my general direction. This time she didn't miss. That's going to leave a mark on my shoulder.

Thankfully I was able to catch it as it bounced off me. I looked at it in wonder. "How'd you catch—" I stopped my stupid question. Of course she had caught it when I had thought she had tried to punch me. I caught a glimpse of some intricacies carved into the snitch and examined it more carefully, turning it. "This isn't a practice snitch," I announced, amazed. "This is the one for the game." The Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw game will need a new snitch, apparently. How did it escape?

"And that matters why?" she demanded.

There are just too many responses to that. I can tell by the look on her face that she couldn't care less about the Snitch's loyalty to its first catch, though. She didn't even care that she was the first one to touch this snitch after it was made. I turned it over in my hand. "Never mind," I muttered, pocketing it.

I still can't believe the intensity of that catch. "Do you realize how brilliant of a Seeker you'd be?" I asked her, marveling.

"You'll never get me off the ground, Potter," was her flippant reply.

Admittedly, yes. I had thought for half a moment that I'd be able to recruit her in time for the game. Then I remembered who I was talking to. But she was proclaiming her inability to fly at all? Well, that was false.

"I've seen you fly before."

Wait. Hopefully she thinks I'm talking about first year, not last week when I spotted her from the Forbidden Forest. Evans rolled her eyes. Definitely first year.

"Not in front of a crowd," she pointedly persisted. So she has stage fright? That's easily fixed.

"Well, no. But the crowd doesn't matter," I eagerly assured her.

She tilted her head and asked with a sly, disbelieving tone, "Doesn't it?"

Suddenly, memories of times when I had needed Evans to be in the crowd flooded my mind, along with my antics to get her there. I didn't know how to clarify my statement so that she would believe me. Because, for me, the only crowd I needed was Evans, Padfoot, and Wormtail. The rest was just icing on the cake. But others who don't like crowds watching them have been able to block them out entirely. "You're a tricky one, Evans," I muttered finally, leaning back against the case of brooms to be more comfortable for a while. Unfortunately, Evans took this opportunity to edge back towards the door, and she left with a final triumphant tease, "Don't hide too long, Potter."

She left me alone with my thoughts still debating. Why did she come find me? Who was she truly concerned about?

I put my hand in my pocket, fingering the snitch. Once it's caught it could be opened. I wonder how?

Probably ought to go grab my wand.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!

Coming soon: Lily's perspective. ^_^

Reviewers get cookies!

Again, thank you!


	2. Lily and the Snitch

Stupid Snitch

By Matelia-legwll

Disclaimer: No, definitely not Jo Rowling still.

* * *

I wish I could've stayed in the Hospital wing as well, just to get rid of this massive headache those two gave me. Who invented Quidditch spirit chants anyway? Alright, the chants themselves are pretty clever: "Touch gold, Gryffindor!" and "Ravenclaws, touch bronze!" Except gold is the win and bronze is third place. I'll have to remind Justin Turner about that. I bet he forgot.

Whoa! There's Potter! Where is he going, and why is he running away so fast? Looks like he's heading towards the Quidditch pitch.

I slid off the windowsill and started down the flight of stairs. I paused midway through a step. Why am I following Potter?

I continued walking, more slowly, still thinking about the answer to that. I knew I needed to, but I had no clue why. As I reached the end of the stairs, I thankfully paused again. If I hadn't, Black would have trampled me underfoot as he charged in the opposite direction from the Grand Staircase.

They've obviously been up to some Marauder mischief, I assured myself.

For some reason, whether boredom or curiosity I couldn't tell, I found I was still wandering in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. I momentarily entertained the thought that I could go back up to the common room and ask permission to borrow Beth's broom, but I did that last week and I'm too lazy to go back up the stairs. I feel like talking to Potter and I'm not sure why. Maybe I could tell him off for contributing to my headache.

"Potter!" I called as I moseyed onto the pitch. "Potter!" I narrowed my eyes as I spotted his tufts of black hair poking out from the woodwork. "Potter! Where are you hiding?" I yelled, knowing full well the answer, but wanting him to admit it.

I heard a sigh, then Potter stepped out and waved to me, a stupid grin coming over his face. "Hey Evans," he drawled.

I marched over, driven by my purpose for now. "What did you think you were doing?" I demanded, waving my arms to include everything around us.

"What, now? Hiding in the Quidditch supplies."

I frowned. What a smart mouth.

"Here, come in before she sees you," he insisted, nearly pulling me in as he made sure the door was closed behind both of us.

"Who else was looking for you?" I asked curiously, and yes, I know I was very easily distracted.

"Never mind that," he dismissed, ruffling his hair and straightening his shoulders. Admittedly, yes, he does look more attractive when he does that, but I can't let him know that. "What did you want to see me for?" he asked, his voice pitched lower than usual.

I narrowed my eyes. He really needs to stop that. "It's not going to work this time, Potter," I warned him.

He shrugged and leaned back on a box behind him. "When has it ever? Go on, let me have it." He crossed his arms and looked at me expectantly.

Wait, why was I irritated? Oh yeah. Headache.

"Did you realize Madam Pomfrey is going to murder you and Justin?"

Well that came out slightly different than I think either of us expected. I sounded excited about the impending deaths.

"No," Potter said slowly, probably questioning my sanity. "Where'd you hear that?" He was still straight faced. I'll have to keep with it.

"Straight from the nurse herself," I stated, finishing with a nod to reaffirm the authority of my claims.

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Did she specify our names?"

Rats! I don't think she did. Wait! I know what I could tell him instead. "No, but I told her you were the one responsible for Justin's condition."

I was so proud of myself for coming up with that retort. And Potter's reaction was totally worth it. He started, his eyes going wide as he pretty much yelped, "Why'd you tell her that?" He quickly cleared his throat afterward and composed himself a little better, but I knew I still had his full attention.

"Because you are!" I insisted. "And Madam P swore that she'd murder the next person that came in with a Quidditch spirit related injury, and the person that caused the damage."

So there. Take the cowardly way out and run while you still have a chance. Er… did I just call Madam Pomfrey by my super secret nickname for her in front of James Potter?

"So you mean to stop this from happening again?" he asked calmly.

Seriously? Calmly? Why does he always have to ruin my plans? How can I get him back to being uncomfortable?

"She threatened to start with you," I pointed out obviously, rolling my eyes. Honestly, I'm not that low where I need to invent an excuse to talk to Potter about something that may or may not happen in the future.

"You're warning me, then. Thanks." The arrogant, blind jerk. I'm not that pathetic.

"No!" My frustration spiked, and I stomped a foot. "I realize that it's nearly impossible for you to connect an action with a consequence. Unfortunately, you're a Marauder. You're not concerned for your own life or consequences at all. But at least show a concern for others' lives. You don't have to be blind as well as stupid, Potter," I snapped at him.

Out of air and not having anything else come to mind to say, I paused. Great, my temper had taken control of my tongue again and made me say some things I didn't mean. Surprisingly, in spite of the twinging of guilt, I do feel marginally better now. I glanced up at him, slightly concerned at his lack of response.

He was glaring at me, so my gaze quickly returned to the floor.

"Admittedly, I'm not as concerned for Turner as you are," he retorted sharply.

The level of guilt rose. I had not been concerned for Justin Turner since I left him in the Hospital Wing, and here I was trying to convince Potter to be concerned about him and these possible consequences.

"But how many times have you been in the Hospital Wing?" he asked, surprising me with the subject change.

Did he really expect me to have counted every time I escorted someone to the Hospital Wing? "What do you mean by that?" I asked, my confusion overruling my pride.

I was also hoping for an out before the guilt rose unbearably.

Potter shrugged one shoulder before patiently asking, "How many times have you been there because of your own injury?"

Oh… hm… My own injury. I can't think of a single time—wait. I can think of one.

"Er… once, maybe," I said slowly, trying to remember if there were more times than just the time in second year when I sprained my ankle. Maybe…

"Your sprained ankle, right?" he stated more than asked.

In surprise, my wide eyes flew up to his face. Big mistake. I hate how easily I lose my train of thought and end up just gazing at him. Thankfully, I kept enough of my wits about me so I could hide my staring with the question, "How d'you remember that?"

The corner of his lips quirked slightly and I tore my gaze away from his face as he refocused his attention on me. "Anyway, just to let you know, regulars never get hurt without Madam Pomfrey spouting off death threats if it happens again. She never follows through on them."

Stubborn Potter. Didn't even answer my question. He knew it too. And that was even a real question, not like the one the conversation requires now. "But how can you be sure she won't this time?" I insincerely acted overly worried by the prospect as I added, "You didn't hear her."

The insincerity went completely over his head. I can't imagine how. Those lines were as cheesily put together as anything on the wireless. But for some reason I had caught James Potter in a serious mood. Usually it's the other way around, but today I didn't mean half the things I'm saying and he's taking me seriously. His straight faces will kill me someday.

"No, but I can sure picture it."

Now so can I. Thanks so much Potter. Great, he chose to flash a smile. Wish I could stop myself from swooning ever so slightly.

"Honestly, Evans, I'm a lot more worried about you following through on death threats than Pomfrey's ravings."

I pouted at his flattering words. Nothing ever goes according to plan with him. Admittedly, it wasn't much of a plan. Just trying to make him feel threatened and uncomfortable. I'm still not sure if it is actually possible, but it was worth a try.

"Fine. Be stubborn. But don't tell me in the afterlife that I didn't let you know," I warned.

Hang on, what's that floating behind Potter's head? Or, rather… flying? Is it a bird? How long has that been there? Could it be a snitch?

"You feel guilty for telling on me, don't you?" he asked arrogantly. Self-centered Quidditch playing…

"Hardly," I scoffed. Honestly, he must have been messing with the snitch before I came in. How else could it have dislodged itself so quietly?

"But you came all the way out to the Quidditch field, inside the supplies cupboard with me, to tell me of Pomfrey's threats."

The alarm is going off in my head: Bubble alert! Potter has invaded my personal bubble. I wanted to glare at him so he'd step back, but the stupid snitch is holding all my attention. It's hovering behind his head, first on one side, then the other. "So?" I kept my eyes on it. He'd better not think—

"Evans, why are you still here?"

I'm not going to answer that. Stupid flying ball. It must hate me.

"Oh," I huffed, displeased with myself for getting into this situation. "You want me to leave. Alright." I turned and started for the door, feeling better in spite of his protests.

"No," "Wait," and "Listen to me," I was able to successfully ignore. "Lily!" stopped me dead in my attempt.

I don't think he comprehends the effect it has on me emotionally whenever he calls me by my Christian name. I'm glad my back was to him. I was sure that if he was watching my face, he would have recognized the emotions I felt—pleasure, confusion, loyalty, regret, irritation, sorrow, impatience, anger—all in that single moment of silence after he crossed that line. I spun back after I had settled my face on anger.

"Don't." Step. "Call." Step. "Me." Step. "So." Step. "Intimately," I ordered, firmly enunciating each syllable.

The snitch was hovering close to his ear, (I don't know how he could ignore it so well) so on an irritated whim, I quickly snatched it.

"Whoa!" Potter cried, belatedly ducking.

I peeked at the snitch, proud that I had caught it. The wings fluttered then withdrew into the golden ball. Noticing that I now had something I could throw, I tossed it at Potter, adding, "And here's your stupid snitch."

I was aiming for it to hit him on his thick head, but I suppose his shoulder will have to do. His stupid reflexes were quick enough to catch it before it fell to the floor, but his wince was quite satisfying. I watched him as it turned into wonder. "How'd you catch—" He stopped his question with a shake of his head. His brain caught up with his mouth before it could dig a pit for him to fall into. Not that I would've answered a question like that.

"This isn't a practice snitch," he announced. "This is the one for the game." His wonder and amazement slightly annoyed me.

"And that matters why?" I asked, impatiently. Potter had been messing with the snitch before. Why was he suddenly putting on this act? Why did he never believe me when I said I could see through his antics?

"Never mind," he muttered, stuffing the snitch in his pocket. For some reason, I had mixed feelings about him keeping it. I'm not sure why.

"Do you realize how brilliant of a Seeker you'd be?" he asked.

And to make a point, I met his gaze again. "You'll never get me off the ground, Potter," I replied, dismissing the proposal before he got the question out.

He pursed his lips. "I've seen you fly before," he stubbornly insisted. Yeah? When? First year? I rolled my eyes.

"Not in front of a crowd," I promised. I don't want the ego that comes with Quidditch. Flying? Yes, I love flying. I wish I could fly better, sometimes, but that's still no reason to play sports on a broomstick.

"Well, no. But the crowd doesn't matter," he said earnestly.

What words just came out of Potter's mouth? I tilted my head and stared at him incredulous. "Doesn't it?" I asked slyly. If I could get him to say it twice, perhaps I could shut him up when he pesters me to come.

Potter frowned, leaned against a case, and crossed his arms. "You're a tricky one, Evans," he muttered finally.

I rolled my eyes. Typical. I started moving slowly towards the door again, trying to think of something to say to end the conversation. "Don't hide too long, Potter," is what flew out of my mouth before I shut him alone in the Quidditch supplies cupboard once more.

Brr. It's colder out here than I expected. I pulled my cloak tighter around me as I hurried back to the castle. I hope Potter takes my advice, despite how flippant and awkwardly it was put.

Looks like a storm is coming in.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!

Anonymous, since you are anonymous, let me respond to the two issues you brought up in your review. First, Remus was a conscious decision to exclude. Full moons happen on Quidditch games more often than not, and James wouldn't fret about Remus not being in the crowd. Second, anything Dumbledore can do, James Potter can do better. And from what I remember, everyone-Hermione, Ron, Scrimgeour, and Harry-knew that the Snitch opening for Harry was a possibility. Not Dumbledore inventing something brand new that had never happened before. It had been done before, and that was the whole point Scrimgeour came personally. A big cookie and my thanks to you for reviewing!

Reviewers get cookies!

Again, thank you! Enjoy!


End file.
